I’m down on blogging again, not in spite of my week off, but because of it. After driving 2,450 miles, I’m more convinced than ever that the world has gone crazy, and blogging is part of it.

Last Friday we were attending the American Conifer Society national convention in Charlotte, North Carolina. The entire trip violated most of the principles I love to rail against, especially in blogs. We burned up more than 90 gallons of gas, adding to the pollution and helping justify all that road construction and everything else that goes with the automobile culture. Even though we try to patronize local diners and cafes, there were times when we couldn’t find anything but McDonalds-type places. And then there was the old truism: no matter where you go, there you are. So why bother?

Why does everybody want to be someplace else? I didn’t know before we went, and I don’t know now. Sure, travel is broadening and all of that rot, and I’m sure that for some people at least it’s both educational and entertaining. But I’ll wager that for 90 percent of us, it’s nothing but mindless diversion.

Of course, this comes from a guy who, early in his career as a magazine writer, flew 100,000 miles a year, until every airport and hotel room looked the same. I quit that job so I could stay home and garden and raise chickens and goats. That was more than 40 years ago, and every time a plane passes overheard I still look up and wonder who’s on it, where they’re going, and why. I’ve written about this in my Countryside Beyond the Sidewalks column and got some tart replies from people who had just been on important trips, such as attending a funeral. That doesn’t change my basic view, but even if it did, it doesn’t affect my own attitude toward travel.

Yes, we saw some interesting sights. Meaning gardens, mostly, since not much else holds much interest for me any more. But they weren’t that interesting. A prime example: a pot at the famed Biltmore Estate Gardens in Asheville featured common kale — yes, the vegetable — and Creeping Jenny, which many gardeners consider a weed. And it cost $60 to look at it. (Okay, so they threw in America’s largest “home” too. Big deal. We didn’t even go in.)

We met some interesting people. In most cases, it was a brief encounter: we didn’t get to know each other, and we’ll probably never meet again. I’ve had much more interesting, and meaningful, relationships with pen pals in the olden days of paper letters, envelopes and stamps.

We learned a few things, but shucks, I learn something new every day without leaving home. Well, I learned some things I wouldn’t pick up at home.

For example, I was dimly aware that if I had a laptop computer I could have sent a blog last Friday from almost anywhere. But not having been out in the world lately, I had no idea how ubiquitous that has become. For me, getting away from the computer for a week or two ought to be part of a vacation. Other people go into a restaurant and open their laptops before they look at the menu.

Of course, that’s still not as bad as cell phones. Some people should have them embedded into their skulls. What took the cake in this department was when a lady pulled up next to our convention tour bus at a stop light with not one, but two cell phones! She was talking on one, texting on the other, and supposedly driving a car on a very busy highway in a large city, all at the same time. What in the world could she possibly have been saying that was so all-fired important?

She’s crazy. But so is most of the world. No doubt many would say the same about me, but that doesn’t mean I have get involved in their kind of insanity. I like the Amish precept of being in the world, but not of the world. I went for 10 days without reading a real newspaper or looking at a computer. When I got home and reverted to my old reading habits, I wondered why. If I didn’t miss it then, and don’t enjoy it now, why not just become a hermit?

Putting it all together, I don’t think the world needs any more yapping like I’m doing here. But I do think I know at least part of the answer.

A city fellow was visiting his brother on the homestead. The city brother’s family was impressed by the animals, the gardens, and the fresh food, but somewhat aghast at all the work involved.

Sitting on the porch after dinner, the city relatives talked about their Caribbean cruise last spring, their new iPad, and their upcoming trip to Las Vegas, while the country folks were more focused on the new kid goats and how good the tomatoes were looking.

Finally, the city brother said, “Bro, you really should get away once in awhile. Why don’t you come to our summer place on the lake and spend a few days on our boat?”

“Can’t,” came the reply. “Soon’s we get the hay in, it’ll be canning season.”

“Good Heavens,” the city brother exploded. “How come you never have any fun!?”

The homesteader calmly replied, “We’re happy. Happy people don’t need to have fun.”